


The Limit

by Yuo



Series: Ties That Bind [4]
Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuo/pseuds/Yuo
Summary: Frieda uncovers a disturbing piece of information.





	The Limit

Frieda stared solemnly at the chipped, faded wall, contemplating things as she often did. “You look down,” called Carol, sweeping into the room. The sudden voice made her jump. “And I…” she giggled slightly for effect, “have the answer.” Frieda turned to see Carol whip a shampoo bottle out of her jumpsuit with a flourish.

“Oh, Carol,” she sighed. Frieda didn’t care much for alcohol or drugs. She liked to keep a clear, balanced head, and as far as she was concerned, substances were something that interfered with that.

“Come on, have a drink with me!” Frieda frowned. “Frieda,” Carol pouted. “Please?”

“Why?” sighed Frieda, exasperated.

“You’re so quiet. Like, all the time.” Carol took a seat on her bunk. “I feel like I don’t even know you.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Let’s start easy,” she took a swig from the bottle. “How’d you grow up?”  
  


Frieda scoffed. “You call that easy?”

“Easier with this,” she dangled the bottle at her.

“Fine. Gimme that,” Frieda reached for the bottle. She settled onto the bed, leaning back against the wall.

“So?” prompted Carol.

“Uh-uh. You go first.”

“I asked you first,” laughed Carol. “That’s the rules.”

“Fine. I grew up in the south, um, obviously.” She laughed nervously, a rare sound from Frieda. “Uh, my mom died when I was little.”

“What, that’s it? No tragic backstory?”

Frieda raised an eyebrow. “There is one. You ain’t hearing it, though. Not unless you tell me yours.”

Carol smirked. “What part?”

“Did you always hate your sister?”

“No. Kinda. I don’t know,” she sipped from the bottle. “She didn’t used to be this bitchy, though. That started after we came here.”

“Mmm. Heavier competition?”

“I guess,” she shrugged.

“What about… your other sister?”

Carol tensed slightly. “You have to answer another one of my questions first.”

“Fine.” Frieda reached for the bottle and took a sip, anticipating what was to come.”

“Why don’t you let me touch you?”

Frieda choked on the hooch. “What?” she spluttered.

“You touch me, but cut it off before I touch you. Why?”

She tossed her head back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’d rather tell you my tragic backstory.”

“Aww, come on. Is it because you don’t like me?”

“Really, Carol?” groaned Frieda.

“What?”

“Try to be less obvious when you fish for a compliment.”

“Well, maybe if you told me why, I wouldn’t have to,” giggled Carol.

“I can’t win with you, can I?”

“Nope,” she laughed.

“Okay. Are you gay, Carol?”

“Answer the question first!” she shouted. “Sorry.”

“It’s relevant to the answer.”

“No. I guess. Why?”

“Because I am. And sometimes, which is most times, I really, really wish I wasn’t. You get it?” asked Frieda.

“I don’t see what that has to do with-”

“It makes it too real for me. Being touched.”

“Oh,” said Carol plainly. “Even if it’s me?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“You wanna find out?” she grinned.

“You didn’t want to ‘get to know me’,” accused Frieda. “You came in here wanting a fuck.”

“I did! I do!” protested Carol. “But you know,” she smiled sweetly, “if the conversation happens to turn into something else…”

Frieda rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine.” She reached for the top button of her jumpsuit. “I’m not bluffing.”

“I’m not either.”

Slowly, Frieda pushed the fabric off her shoulders.

“Get a move on,” urged Carol.

“Shut up. I’m doing this for you, aren’t I?” She pulled off her t-shirt as well, leaving her sitting awkwardly in her bra and panties. Trying to hide her blushing face, she quickly slid off her underwear. “Well, come on,” said Frieda, attempting to hide the nervousness in her voice.

With the glint in her eye that only came when she was fighting or fucking, Carol leaned closer, her fingertips barely brushing Frieda’s bare thighs. She gently coaxed them apart. The older woman gasped as Carol’s tongue traced up her slit, a sensation she had almost forgotten.

Carol giggled as she acquainted herself intimately with Frieda’s core, but it soon became clear she was woefully inexperienced. “Slower, slower,” prompted Frieda. “Just - just do what I do to you.” A curious expression on her face, Carol slowly pressed a finger into Frieda’s opening, amazed by the sensation of her hot, slick, velvet walls spreading and fluttering around it. Frieda sighed, enjoying the welcome intrusion. “Another,” she panted. Carol complied, slipping a second finger in amongst the first, making the woman groan as the blissful fullness radiated through her cunt.

Experimentally, Carol skated her tongue around her clit, eliciting another small noise. Frieda wound her fingers in Carol’s messy auburn hair, holding her right where she wanted her. “Good, good, yes, that’s good,” she muttered as Carol circled her stiffened pearl. The younger woman curled her fingers upwards, finding the spot that made Frieda grunt and buck her hips.

A sense of elation like she had never felt before swept through Carol as she continued to pleasure the woman before her. She gave a breathy laugh, exploring with pace and pressure, needing to see Frieda come undone before her eyes. The tattooed inmate was clutching harder at her hair, her other hand grasping at the blankets, arching her back to press her aching, throbbing centre forward.

Frieda felt her cunt begin to spasm; she was amazed at the effect this coquettish young woman had on her. Whatever emotional walls she had built, Carol could slip right through them. A shudder ran through her body as tension pooled in her lower belly, urging Carol to go faster and faster. She clenched her teeth hard as she came, whimpering desperately as she contracted around Carol’s fingers. “Jesus,” she breathed, shocked by the intensity of it all.

Carol grinned up at her from between her trembling thighs. “Did I do good?”

Frieda closed her eyes as she caught her breath. “Yes.”

“You gonna help me out now?” Carol wiggled her hips suggestively.

“Not till you tell me about Debbie. That was the deal.”

“Come on!” whined Carol. “Don’t make me wait.” Frieda pulled her shirt back on. “Ugh, fine,” she groaned. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Why’d you do it?” shrugged Frieda nonchalantly.

“She did gymnastics. You’d think she was an Olympian or something, the way my parents acted around her. They were going to make us move to fuckin’  _Texas_ or something just for that.”

“So why did you kill her?”

“I just said.”

Frieda scoffed. “You killed her because you didn’t want to move?”

Carol looked thoughtful. “I mean, yeah.” Frieda looked very troubled, but the blank expression on the other woman’s face indicated she didn’t find it disturbing at all.

“That’s it? That’s the only reason?” prodded Frieda, shocked.

“I guess. What about it?” Carol sounded quite chipper for someone discussing such matters, adding to the horrifying scene. Frieda swallowed, struggling not to appear upset. “So… my turn now?”

“What? Oh…” she scrambled to find an excuse. “Um, isn’t it almost time for the count?”

“Shit, you’re right,” gasped Carol, capping the shampoo bottle. “Don’t want to get caught,” she chuckled. Breathing a sigh of relief, Frieda pulled her jumpsuit on and got to her feet. “You still owe me,” whispered Carol, pressing a short kiss to her lips before leaving as swiftly as she had came.

Shaken, Frieda stared into the mirror above the sink. She had just witnessed an energy in Carol she had been woefully blind to. Underneath her facade of bubbliness and a budding Lolita complex, there was something sinister, something very wrong. The kind of energy that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, the type of feeling that made you check behind you to ensure you weren’t being followed. It was as if there were something foreign, something alien, where her normal human empathy should be.

She couldn’t even begin to speculate on  _how_ Carol had become this way. There was only one driving feeling within her: her newfound revulsion for the woman. What did you expect? Frieda chided herself. Of course she had known about the Little Debbie Killers for years, but never had she discovered why they committed such acts. Frieda had theorized over it many a time, usually landing on a scenario about abuse to justify their actions. Never had she considered Debbie’s murder was on behalf of a trifling frustration.

One thought remained clear:  _This needs to end. Now._


End file.
